


Having fun yet, Princess?

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff, S1 nostalgia, S1 references, Silly in jokes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, running jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Ridiculous tooth-rotting fluff. S4. Clarke stops Bellamy opening her office door with the words "Stop, the air could be toxic" and a silly in-joke is born.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 32
Kudos: 149





	Having fun yet, Princess?

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a silly thought on Twitter and now I guess it's a silly fic on here. There's a lot of fluff. Miscellaneous early S4 setting. Unbetaed - and did I mention fluffy? Happy reading!

Clarke doesn't know why she says it. Honestly, it's the silliest impulse. She's just walking down the hallway with Bellamy, and he's reaching towards the door handle of the office that is currently hers.

"Stop! The air could be toxic!" She calls, teasing, in the most carefully self-righteous voice she can manage.

There's a beat of silence. Bellamy stands frozen, his hand extended in mid-air half way to the door.

And then he's laughing, hand falling away, throwing a smirk at her over his shoulder.

"If the air's toxic, we'll die soon anyway." He says, with an exaggerated growl. The whole effect is rather ruined by the fact he's still laughing, she thinks.

"Not quite – _we're all dead anyway_." She corrects him smartly.

He laughs even harder. "Whatever. Does it matter? What's got into you?" He asks, turning to face her fully at last.

She shrugs, giggling. "I don't know. The world is ending. Thought we could use a laugh. Come on, we can't stand out here all day. Work to do."

She pushes past him, now. She opens the office door, leads the way inside. Bellamy follows in her wake, shaking his head at her foolishness.

"Can you believe we used to be like that?" He asks.

"What? Can I believe you used to be an arrogant ass? Yep." She bounces right back at him.

"No. I mean – can you believe we used to hate working together?"

"No. It's weird, isn't it? I can't imagine life before we were a team." She shakes her head. "That's why I thought it would be funny. Don't worry. Serious Clarke is back now. Back to saving the world." She sighs, looks down at the papers on her desk.

Bellamy walks a little closer – too close, she thinks. He reaches out to squeeze her arm slightly for no apparent reason.

"You're allowed to have a laugh sometimes. It was good to see you smiling." He tells her softly.

He retreats back to the couch, then. He heads to his usual, comfortable place a safe distance away and sits, looking at her expectantly.

She wants to keep that buoyant mood. She wants it so badly it _hurts_. That's the best thing about working with Bellamy – the way he makes her laugh even when the going gets tough. And in this moment she is absolutely determined to pay him back in kind, to make some other funny reference to their early days and get another laugh out of him in her turn.

But she cannot think of a single witty thing to say. All these months of duty and leadership and survival have evidently eroded her sense of humour, she thinks mournfully. She honestly cannot produce anything even vaguely _fun_.

_Having fun yet, Princess?_

No. It's too late. The moment has passed, and she has a crisis to solve.

…...

Clarke lies awake thinking, that night.

But she doesn't lie awake fretting about the oncoming disaster, as she usually does.

No. That night, she lies awake compiling a mental list of ways to make Bellamy laugh. She got a taste of it today, and now she's desperate for more.

…...

She's got a plan, by the time she arrives at breakfast. It's not the most complex plan she has ever formulated. She's going to stick with silly nostalgic memories from the times they used to argue when they first landed. Is that _nostalgia_? Can it be nostalgic when she doesn't actually _miss_ Bellamy disliking her? The one good thing about their current precarious circumstances, she thinks, is that at least she is secure in Bellamy's friendship.

Anyway, it'll be funny. That's what she hopes. She's got a few quotes picked out that she thinks she has remembered right from their early days, because she knows that made him crack up last night. And then when that stops being funny, she supposes she'll have to think of other ways to make Bellamy laugh.

She takes her food, sits down at a table opposite Raven. There's no sign of Bellamy yet. She gets started on eating her meal of bread and beans. She wonders whether -

"Brave Princess." A warm voice hisses, right in her ear.

She jumps a mile. She spills some beans inelegantly on her tray. She turns, startled, to find Bellamy's lips far too near to where her cheek used to be.

"Good morning to you too." She says primly.

He laughs brightly, pats her consolingly on the shoulder. "I'm just saying – the beans are a brave choice. That's just kitchen scraps stewed together and called breakfast."

"We mustn't waste food." She tells him firmly.

He has slid into the seat next to hers, now. And he's looking across at her, frowning, as if wondering what he did wrong.

"I'm sorry." He tries. "Thought it would be funny. Like last night. I didn't mean to make you jump."

She shakes her head to clear it, tries for a smile. "Yeah. Sorry. You're right – it was a good one."

"So good you're not laughing." He bounces back at her with a smirk.

She gives him a grudging smile at that. "I'm just annoyed at you." She says, mock stern. "I was trying to make _you_ laugh and you had to take me by surprise and get there first."

"It's not a competition, Princess."

She considers that for a moment. Is that another reference to days gone by? She doesn't recognise it. And he's not putting on any voice or act that she can tell – it seems like he's simply speaking.

Huh. So that's just him trying to be cheerful. And slipping in a little teasing pet name. She can deal with this.

She considers it for too long, in the end. She's right on the point of making her retort when Raven interrupts with a pointed comment about the weather.

That's another moment lost. Another moment, when there are precious few moments left before the world burns.

…...

She seizes the next opportunity with both hands. She's not about to let another moment slip away. The following evening, she's walking out of the supper hall with Bellamy. They're intending to head straight for her office and see whether there's any progress they can make with the fate of the human race, but Clarke sees Raven and Monty cross their path to head for the bar and is seized by an idea.

"Come on." She tells Bellamy, tugging a little at the sleeve of his jacket to steer him in the same direction as their friends. That's fair game, right? He seems to have got very into patting her arm, recently, and she doesn't see why she shouldn't return the favour, more or less.

"I thought we were working tonight."

"We can just get one drink then head to work. You look like you could use a drink." She tries, in a poor imitation of his deep voice.

He laughs at her, as she was rather hoping he would. "I could use more than one." He bounces back.

She laughs, smiles across at him. She fears she looks a little mindless, with all this giggling and smiling. A little transparently _lovestruck_.

"Isn't it your line, now?" Bellamy prompts her, with a soft elbow in her side. "Something about deserving to have fun?"

"Can't remember. I just remember you growling something about _I'll have my fun when the grounders come_." She recalls, affectionate and teasing.

"I was such an ass." He shakes his head ruefully.

"You were doing your best. You only set out to protect your sister and you ended up with a hundred other kids to protect as well."

He snorts. "Not like you ever needed my protection, Princess."

"You're wrong." She tells him firmly. "I know you meant that as some kind of compliment or apology for the way you used to act back then. But you have _always_ protected me and I'm grateful for it." She says, conviction on the point of spilling over into tears.

They're at the bar, now. Time for the conversation to die away, she supposes. Time for the moment to pass. So much for making Bellamy laugh, she frets – she barely managed to get one chuckle out of him before the conversation turned serious.

"Thanks, Clarke." Bellamy mutters, just as she thinks they must be done here. "I'm doing my best."

"I don't make it easy." She points out, perhaps another reminder of conversations gone by, or perhaps simply the truth.

"I know. But you're worth it." He says, off hand. Totally casual, as if it's just obvious.

Before she can follow up, before she can dare to ask him what that even means, Monty has waved them over to the table and yet another moment is lost.

…...

She hits her stride, more or less, after that. She seems to remember planning to find some other way to make Bellamy laugh, when the silly references to their initial mutual dislike stopped being funny. But she's been doing this a couple of weeks, now, and Bellamy still laughs every time. Maybe he's just indulging her, she wonders in her more insecure moments. Maybe he's just doing what he always does – trying to keep her hopeful when their circumstances are beyond grin.

Or maybe he honestly does like laughing at little shared jokes with her, just like she enjoys his company and humour, too.

Either way, she's got her newfound talent honed to a fine art by this point. She knew that precise memory that was so helpful when she was a medical apprentice would come in handy on the ground, too – she just didn't think remembering old quotes from her former nemesis would be the ultimate use for it. She didn't think her former nemesis would become the best friend she's hopelessly in love with.

Bellamy sits down at the supper table opposite Clarke, and she is ready for him.

"It's crazy in here tonight." He says, pointing around at the crowded tables. "Why is everyone trying to eat all at once?"

She grins. "What's wrong with a little chaos?" She asks, without missing a beat, low and growly in that poor impression she has perfected of late.

Bellamy loses it. He full on _loses it_ , spluttering with laughter as he bends over his tray. She's flattered, honestly. She didn't think it was _that_ funny. Normally he'll chuckle at her silly lines, but right now he honestly looks in danger of pulling a muscle.

Meanwhile Raven looks between the two of them, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What's going on?"

"Just a joke." Clarke says, shrugging as if it's nothing. To be clear, making Bellamy crack up like this is literally the best thing that has happened to her all year.

In all fairness, it's been a pretty crappy year.

Anyway, she doesn't want to look too overexcited. She wants to look cool and calm and collected. As if making her beautiful best friend laugh out loud just comes naturally to her. As if this isn't some carefully arranged strategy to make his day brighter just as he always makes hers.

"Good one, Princess." Bellamy gets out, laughter dying down. "How times change, huh? I deserved that one. I've started grumbling a lot more lately."

"I think that's valid. The world is ending." She points out, waving a forkful of carrot in his general direction.

"But thanks for reminding me to keep smiling all the same." He says, with a crooked and rather tired grin.

She understands it, then. It's not that what she said was especially funny. It's that his day was especially bad, especially hopeless. That she offered him a moment of levity, a way to let it all out just when he needed it the most. That maybe he does need her every bit as much as she needs him.

She quite likes that idea. She reaches across the table to rest a comforting hand on his forearm while she finishes eating her carrots. And she ignores, most carefully, the stares Raven gives her all the while.

…...

Clarke doesn't consciously choose to spend even more time with Bellamy, as the days pass by. She just allows it to happen, somehow. The world is ending. Their days are numbered. And she lets herself spend as many precious moments by his side as possible.

She's planning to help him unload the rover today. That's silly. She has other things to do – a report from Raven that needs her attention. And Bellamy is only unloading the dried meat he picked up from Niylah's. But all the same, Clarke is here, ready to help or stare or laugh, or maybe a little bit of all three.

He parks the rover. She heads straight for the back door of the vehicle the moment it is still, because she thinks that seems safer than allowing herself to wait while he gets out of the driver's seat. She might end up hugging him a little too enthusiastically, if she hangs around for that.

She gets the door open, reaches for the first crate. She starts dragging it across the scratched metal floor of the rover, but it's heavy work.

"Aren't you going to help me?" She prompts, throwing a glance at Bellamy who is watching her, hands clasped on his hips, and looking far too entertained.

He shrugs. "Let the privileged do the hard work for a change." He says, in that ridiculous throaty growl.

That ridiculously _sexy_ throaty growl. Honestly, it's not fair.

"Why do you always do that voice?" She asks him, abandoning the damn crate and turning to scowl at him. "You always do that stupid deep voice when you're joking around about how we used to act."

His jaw goes tight, his gaze slipping away from hers.

No. She's not having that. He is not avoiding her question when there is precious little time left to learn the answers to this mysterious man.

"Really, Bellamy? What's with that?"

"You did a stupid voice the first few times." He points out, defensive.

She waits him out. She simply gives him a _look_ , caring and questioning all at once, she hopes.

"I guess it's because – I'm not proud of the guy I was back then." He mutters. "That Bellamy doesn't feel like _me_ , you know? I'm trying to remind myself I'm not that guy any more."

"You're still you." She says firmly. It might not be what he thinks he wants to hear, but it's what she believes he needs to hear. "You're easier to work with now, sure. Less of an ass. But you're still the same guy. You're driven by protecting people just as you always were. You don't need to be ashamed of that. So what if it took you a while to figure out a few things when we landed?"

His jaw is still tight. He's still standing, stiff and awkward, as if he wishes the floor would swallow him. But he's looking at her, now, gazing right into her eyes as if he cannot quite believe what he's seeing there.

"Thanks, Princess." He offers, soft and somehow almost _unsure_.

She gives him a hug. She's not sure whether that's the right move – usually they save their hugs for greetings and farewells and forgiveness, for escaping death and surviving disasters. Usually they only go for one of those smaller passing touches, when just sharing comfort.

But honestly, he looks like he could use a lot of comfort right now. And she always loves a good Bellamy hug.

She turns back to the rover, when the hug is over. She reaches for that crate again, starts tugging it effortfully towards her once more.

"You like the voice." Bellamy says, out of the blue.

Her neck whips round to face him. "What?"

"You like the voice. It annoys you, but you like it too. You do your little smile when I do the voice. The one that says you're laughing at me but also a little pissed."

"I don't have a smile for that." She snaps on instinct, although she's fairly sure it's a lie. But what he's suggesting sounds scary, in this moment. There's something about his comment that has implications deeper than friendship and laughter, she thinks.

"Yeah you do." He tells her easily, nudging her out of the way and taking the crate. "It's basically been stuck on your face since you first met me." He teases.

With that, he takes the crate and lifts it straight out of the rover. Clarke isn't sure what she's more flustered by, really – his show of strength, his patronising chivalry, or the idea that Bellamy has been watching her face so carefully all this time.

…...

Two days later, there is an errand to run.

It's a simple errand. More supplies to pick up from Niylah. Clarke could send anyone in Arkadia, really.

But she decides that she and Bellamy will go.

She's usually one for making decisions logically, she seems to remember. And she can think of no logical justification for the two of them going on this trip. No reason, that is, besides the fact she _wants_ them to. She wants it so much – she's just desperate, honestly, for a nice day trip with her good friend. She's aware that this will hardly be a picnic in the sun, but it doesn't need to be. She and Bellamy have a good time together even in the midst of disaster. They bonded over a trip to fetch guns from a supply depot, of all things. So amidst the stress of trying to save the human race, she thinks they will both benefit from a drive round an irradiated forest.

That decided, she heads to his room before breakfast and knocks firmly at the door.

"Come in." Bellamy calls from within.

She does. She opens the door, leans round it, already smiling slightly simply because she knows her day is set to get better, now.

"I'm here for you. I hear you have a gun." She says carefully, brows raised.

He rolls his eyes fondly, lets out a brief chuckle. "What can I do for you?"

"We're going to Niylah's."

"We are? You and me?" He asks, as if he very much wants the answer to be yes.

"Yeah. Right now I don't feel like being around anyone I actually like." She throws back at him, grinning.

He laughs at that, looks down at the floor for a moment. "Ouch. You really hated me, huh?"

"What can I say? You're growing on me." She teases brightly.

He smiles wide at that, looks up to meet her eyes. Happiness looks good on him, she finds herself thinking.

To be fair, everything looks good on him. But a happy Bellamy is the best Bellamy, she's sure of it. She wants him to be happy more than _anything_.

"You too, Princess." He crosses the room, pulls her into a quick half a hug. It leaves her flummoxed, honestly. They're good at hugging, but they don't usually go for one before they've even had breakfast.

"Come on. We should eat and get driving."

"Whatever the hell you want."

He does the voice. He does that damn deep growl, even though she's told him he doesn't need to. Even though she's said he doesn't need to be ashamed of who he is or was or could be.

She slants a look at him, ready to repeat the point. But then she sees him looking back and realises he's messing with her, pure and simple, putting that voice on to win her half-smile.

Damn it. She supposes he must have won that round.

…...

They're having a good day, Clarke thinks – or at least, a good day as far as days at the end of the world go. They have eaten breakfast together, had a good chat on the rover ride to Niylah's. And now Bellamy is pulling the rover smoothly to a halt and looking across at Clarke where she sits in the passenger seat.

"You want to go straight to Niylah's?" He asks "Or do you fancy – uh – _taking a walk in the woods_?" He asks, with careful emphasis and that all-too-familiar growl.

She laughs despite herself. "No. You can't have that one. Way too laboured. And does it even count if you don't almost walk into a tree?"

"What can I say? You were distracting me." He shrugs, laughing.

She's not laughing, now. She's wondering what he means by that. How was she _distracting him_ , exactly? She remembers that morning well. She wasn't talking at the time – he was trying to take the lead in the conversation as well as along the path.

She sits, somewhere between nervous and excited, and wonders how to ask him what that meant.

"Really though – do you want to take a walk? We're not in a rush, right?"

She bites her lip, considers it. She does have things to do back in Arkadia. But a quick twenty minutes wandering through the woods with Bellamy sounds like a welcome break, actually. A chance to discover some of the excitement of Earth she used to dream of, back when she would draw in her cell. A chance to simply be a pair of carefree youngsters, just for a little while.

"Sure. A quick walk would be fun." She agrees, hopping out of the rover.

Bellamy leads the way, as they start walking. He heads into the trees behind the trading post, and Clarke doesn't answer. There are a lot of tracks and major paths round here, and she knows them quite well from her three months wandering the wilderness. They are as safe here as anyone can really be, on Earth.

She tries to lighten up and enjoy the time. She points out a few interesting plants and flowers, remembering her resolution to treat this as a time to be a bit of a dreamer once more. She's not sure that she quite succeeds – _planning_ to act carefree doesn't strike her as being genuinely carefree at all, actually. But it's better than nothing, and she's certainly pleased she said yes to this walk.

"Having fun yet, Princess?" Bellamy teases, when she's been silent for perhaps a moment too long without offering some new topic of conversation.

She laughs a little at his reference, but gets on with answering his question honestly. "Yeah. This is lovely – thanks for suggesting it. Maybe we should take a walk more often."

"I'd like that." He says simply – almost _solemn_ , no hint of his earlier joke.

Wow. He means it, then. That's a good sign, she thinks. That's a sign that she's doing OK at her mission to keep Bellamy smiling.

They walk in silence for a few moments more. It's comfortable, Clarke decides. She can already feel the tension of life back at camp ebbing away.

"I've got a good one." Bellamy says, as if they were half way through a conversation.

"Yeah?" She prompts him, wondering what he's on about.

"Yeah." He clears his throat, shifts into his growl. "Watch and learn, Princess." He tells her, cocky, grinning.

And then he makes finger guns with his hands and starts shooting them silently at a nearby tree.

Clarke starts giggling, rather hysterical. She's not sure she'll ever stop giggling, actually. The world is ending and Bellamy Blake is standing here in the middle of a forest silently making shooting motions at a perfectly inoffensive tree. She understands, now, why he spoke up as if they were in the midst of a conversation – it's because, evidently, to his mind they have been in one ongoing conversation since she first made that stupid joke about the door.

She thinks there's something sad about it too, though. She thinks it's at least a little heartbreaking that he is so determined to hate his former self, so ashamed of his behaviour in days gone by. She cannot see any other way to interpret his constant insistence on making fun of his past words and actions.

That's the thought that sobers her up. She stops giggling, tries to address the situation.

"Maybe we need some new running jokes. I don't like watching you take the piss out of yourself all the time. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, you know. We've all made mistakes. You're still a good guy."

He snorts, eyes fixed on the tree he has been using for imaginary target practice. "Thanks, Clarke. But this definitely is a moment to take the piss out of. I was trying so hard to impress you and I must have looked pathetic."

"You were trying to impress me?" She asks, startled.

"Yeah. Of course I was. There's this smart, confident girl who keeps making me smile but won't give me the time of day. _Of course_ I was trying to impress you." He laughs, self-deprecating, lets his hands fall from those imaginary weapons to clasp at his hips instead. "I just wanted you to notice me for something _good_ , besides only seeing me as an ass."

She frowns. "I already did, Bellamy. Like I said, you're a good guy – I think I noticed that long before you did."

He looks up, eyes flickering over her face.

She takes a deep breath, steels her courage. "Teach me?" She asks, shaping her hands into those silly finger guns in turn.

He grins, lightening up right away. "Ready to be a badass, Clarke?"

She nods, walks closer to him. But she doesn't stop a polite distance away and wait for him to teach her his ways – after all, she is not actually here to learn how point her fingers silently at a tree. Rather, she steps right up to him, her back pressed against his chest. It's half a memory of that day, half something brand new and beautiful.

And it is entirely, dizzyingly, _fun_.

He gets the picture. He's no fool, is Bellamy. He reaches out for one of her hands, clasps it in his own. The other arm he wraps around the top of her chest, just below her neck, a wonderful parody of the way he arranged a rifle on her shoulder, once upon a time.

"Like this?" She asks, carefully innocent.

He laughs, his breath warm against her ear. "Yeah. A little higher on your shoulder." He murmurs softly, stroking a hand along her arm and up, over her bare neck.

She simply cannot take it any more. She cranes her neck, turns her head and reaches awkwardly up to kiss him full on the lips.

There's a moment's pause. Just one lonely heartbeat where he remains motionless, and she wonders whether perhaps she has made some horrific mistake. But then he's catching up with her, sighing into her mouth, rearranging his hands and turning her until he's holding her snug against him, front to front.

It reminds her of that first hug, she thinks, even as they kiss. That first beautiful hug where he seemed so surprised to find himself wanted and appreciated and loved. Funny, how that's a theme that seems to repeat itself with Bellamy. He always seems surprised to realise he's essential to her.

She brushes that aside, focusses on the kiss. It's a wonderful kiss – warm and gentle, eager without being rushed. But the best thing about it is _Bellamy_ , holding her protectively and perhaps also possessively, tangling his hands in her hair and pulling her close at her waist all at once. There's more than that going on, though. There's something about the way his lips feel exactly as she expected them to feel – soft and dry, polite yet urgent. And she's always loved the smell of him, loves more than ever the way she feels surrounded by that as much as by his arms, now.

In short, she's totally head over heels for him, in case that wasn't clear.

That's not what she should be focussing on, she chides herself. She's supposed to be making him happy. She's here to make him smile. Is she making him feel good? Should she -

He pulls away, grinning down at her. Well, then. Apparently she has managed to make him smile, at least.

"How long have we been walking?" He asks pointedly.

Oh. Right. Yes – she's supposed to be a level-headed leader with a schedule to follow. But it has been lovely, just for a few minutes, to simply be a carefree young dreamer once more.

Perhaps it's something she ought to try more often.

"We need to get back to Niylah's." She says, and even to her own ears her voice sounds thoroughly disappointed.

Bellamy smiles wryly at her. "This is on you, Princess. You should have kept your mouth shut."

She laughs, giddy with happiness. "I don't see you complaining." She counters.

"I'm not." He agrees, taking her hand and starting to walk. "I like your mouth, as it happens." He teases.

She shakes her head, notes that she's wearing her exasperated half-smile. Ah, well. Bellamy does like that look on her. She squeezes his hand, stays close by his side while they walk. It's not very practical, but it is pretty pleasant.

"We're heading to my office when we get back and finishing that." She informs him smartly. She is absolutely certain he'll be interested in the idea.

"Your _office_? Really? On the couch? Couldn't pick a room with a bed?" He argues.

"No. We're going to my office, because I have had _a lot_ of thoughts about you on that couch."

He doesn't answer that. Clarke looks across, wondering why. She finds that he's staring at the path before his feet, face flushing.

Happiness does look good on him – she stands by that. But she thinks that flustered arousal looks even better, thank you very much.

"We can go back to your room once we're done with the couch, if you like." She presses, because she's having a lot of fun, here.

"Really? Like some kind of old Earth bar crawl?" He bounces back, bright.

She nods. She grins. She squeezes his hand once more for good measure. And then she speaks, because really, in this moment, there is only one thing she can possible say.

"Whatever the hell you want."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
